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TRI-WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO, S C., JANUARY 18, 1881. VOL. IV.-NO
Down dot p in the lowermost drawer.
Away fromu the cold, ca- eless gaze,
They lie in a 'ime-tintod cover
Memeutoos of earlier days.
There lies in that preo'ous fackage
A note ; but the delicate hand
That traoed it hath long awayel-ta eoeptre
Afar off in Beulah's fairland.
Beside it a look, brightly silvered
With time and the toils f the past,
Is laid , but the Infinite bosom
That weaiy head p:llows at last.
Another, of deep glossy blaokneas,
Reoalls a beloved mothcr's oare.
she went ore the dews of life's evening
Bad fallen, the kingdom to share.
These others-ah I well, 'tic evough
The ribbon all so.led to untie I
Too bitter tLe griefs they awaken
a Touch not-undisturbed let them lie,
le only who fashioned eo wisely
The heart can its secrets beat keep g
Then, wake not their sad, mournful echoes.
But tenderly hush them to sleep.
When the Ship Comes In.
A sweet-faced woman and a sweet-faced
child are wandering among the shipping
docks of the great c'ty. The woman is
plainly dressed, but evidently in her best
attire, and there is a touch of gentility In
her finery, In the real lace collar, relics of
better days, perhaps, the pearl earrings
and the neat gloves. The child is neatly
dressed, too, and as she clasps the woman 's
hand, looks love at her guardian. But ihe
woman's face is not at Its best now, a care
worn look, And a faint wrinkle ul)on the
pale forehead that ages her and lessens the
charm of her features.
She Is inquiring of the dockien, of the
stevedores, of the loungers about the
wharves, whether the brig Good Luck has
come In. She always receives thu saime
reply to her eager question, for the brig
Good Luck has been lost a month ago,
dashed on a lee shore, and ground to pieces
by the sea, and will never come in-never
If they told her, she wouldn't believe
them, for the woman and hi r child have
supreme faith that the brig Good Luck
will come in soon with cargo and crew,
though they have been asking the same
question and same prayer for imany and
many a day.
Then she goes across the street and
winds her way among the bales and boxes
and Iasing carts, and through all the hub
bub und bustle of the whari, and climbs a
flight of stairs to where the brig's owners
have their oilice. They are used to seeing
her. They smile sadly when she enters
with the child, and look signiticantly at one
snother, as much as o say : "Poor thing I
she's mad. No wonder, no wonder I"
Mad I Yes, she Is mad with "hope de
ferred," with anxiety to meet her husband,
Caleb Shelter, master of the brig Good
Luck; to meet the master of the brig, her
husband and the father of her child. Why
does he stay away from her so long?
"Is the Good Luck in yet?" she asks of
"Not yet, ma'aim."
"Shu is expected, of course to-day?"
"There's a vessel coming In now. I see
the tall masts. Look I Look I" poInting
out of the office window to the river front.
"Maybe that's ill lIlie, dear, look! there's
father's vessel, with father on board!"
The child clasps her litLIe hands at the
"Sorry to say that ain't it, nma'am,"
says the clerk, relapsing ito his calcula
tions and paying no miore attention to the
She stares out of the open window at
the approaching vessel drawnt by a tug,
and then with a blank look upon her face,
and a moan that Is heartrending, says:
"N~o, Ellie, no 1 That Is not the Good
Luck. I see the figure-head. Trhe ligure
lieadi of Good Luck is ani angel; a white
and gold angel. No, no! that isn't it."
"But papa will soon come hiomie, won't
he, mamma?" whispered the child.
Old Mr. r~wvman), who is the head of the
e'stablishmaent here, now comes from be
hInd his desk, and, approaching the wvoman,
says In a kindly tone:
"Mrs. Shelter, sit down;. make yourself
as comfortable as you can in a dingy ofilce
like tis. llere, little one, come here, give
mer a kiss. A bright, pretty little dear,
"She looks pale," said the mother. "She
is tired; she bas been walking too much."
The 01ld gentleman site down and lifts
the little girl on his knee andl kisses her.
Bhe wvinds her arms about lis neck and
"You'll tell my papa to come soon, won't
It was the habit of this firm to pay a
sort of pension monthly to the widows of
captains who were lost in their service. It
was not much of a stipendl, being only
half-p-.ty, but it was certainly a blessing In
very many cases. Mrs Shelter had always
received her husband's money here, while
lie was at, sea, or it was sent to her when
she was sick or the weather was bad.
"Ah. Mr. Tawman, i'm sure the Good
Luck wdl be in to-daty."
"'Certainly It will. What's to hinder it?"
lie puts the child down andi goes over to
his desk, and unlocking lia drawer lie takes
out an accoumnt book and begims wrliing a
receipt. Thlen goes over into thme cashier's
room. While lie Is there the tel-graph
clerk calls lhim over.
Click, clickity click! goes the magic in
strumuen repeoatinig Its dot, and dashl mecs.
"Hear that?" says thme operator. "That's
news for you!" Tlhme prFopiletor could read
every word by its sound.
"it's like a message from Godi," snyt
Mr. Tawman, reverently. "I must not
lHe comes hack to where the woman IF
sitting, his face is flushed wvith; emotion;
some strange excItement. Hie throws Intc
her lap a bundale of banik notes.
Tlhcre, Mrs. Shelter, now go home.
Take a car at the door.
"Oh, i'm not tired, And I should like
to be here when the brig comes in. But I
thanuk, you so much, so mucn."
"Here little one," says the good-hearted
TaWmnaa, "here's something for you to buy
candles with." He nut a ito her tiny out.
stretehed hand a bright silver quarter of a
dollar, and laughs at the wonder and de.
light of the little rz-ciplent.
"I'll keep this for my papa."
Poor little tiing, she is weary unto
sleep. She cuddles herself Iu the big chair
and sinks into slumber In an instant.
"Now, Mrs. Shelter, you've had no din.
ner," says Taw mau.
"Oh, yes, sir."
"Yesterday, perhaps, but I mean to-day.
Go down with Mr. Pelton, there, our young
man, and get somethlug-to cat. You see
we have arrangements for the comforts of
our clerks. * We give then a hot' dinner,
and a good diinner too. There's nobody
"Go down there and ask the waiter,
George," addressing Mr. Pelton, whom he
had summoned, "to lrivo this good lady a
cu) of tea und a piece of toast, some
chicken, and all that." Then, pausing a
muoment, as if propriety and philanthlopy
are struggling for mastery in his mind.
"No, no, George. Tell Henderson to
send the dinner up Into the room here,
that's better1" The young man leaves the
room. Then Mr. Tawnian enters the of
flee again and consults the telegraoh op
"Send this message at once, Mr. Lind
say, if you please." lie writeisonethme,
and the operator clicks It off at oace. It's
a long message, a very long message in
deed; but the President's message itself Is
not half so important, so interesting to
those whoI it concerns.
Then by the time the message is sent,
the dinner is ready in Mr. Tawman's
private oflice, when Irs. Shelter partakes
of It, but does not think proper to waken
the weary child that she may eat also.
Then iMr. Tawman says: "Now, you
had bettor go. I'll see to the child; I'll
brinjg the little girl t) with me to-night."
"No, not" exclaims the mother. "I
must have my Ellie with me always, sir.
You are so very good, though, sir; so very
gool And Is there no news of the Good
"Not a wora, I'm sorry to say."
"It can't, be possible. The brig must
come in to-day."
"I'm Fure I hope so, with all my heart
and soul, Mrs. Shelter."
"I know you do," she responds, with a
"Now go. I'm sorry yoil have to waken
the child, but I suppose you can't help it."
"Conic, Ellie," says the mother, touch
ing her lightly on the shoulder.
The child with a start awakens and
cries, "Is it my pApa? Dear, (ear papal"
Then, seeing her disappointment, she
burst into tears.
"Don't cry, dear, don't cry. The brig
will come in. )ou t cry!" The good old
man speaks soothingly to the sobbing
child; and the mother catchmg her hand
walks slowly and sadly away, followed by
Mr. Tawman, who lifts the little girl down
stairs and helps both her and her mother
into a car.
The next morning the woman Is again
loitering - abouit -the wharves with the saino
agenized inquiry. She again puts the
question to the wharfmnen, and again only
receives the same answer. Then, as be
fore, she seeks the office of the brig own
ers, still accompanied by her little girl,
"Has the brig Good Luck coie in yet?"
"Not yet, ma'am."
She sighs and looks out of the window
at the shipping. She says she will wait
for Mr. Tawman, and site down.
When Mr. 'lawman comtes, as usual,
he greets her very kindly, and kisses the
little girl and says:
"I'm sorry the brig isn't in yetl"
"Will it be in to-day?"
"I hope so." And lie goes behind his
desk and looks over his letters. He has
not long been engaged in his correspond
ence when a scream from the wonian
She has risen and Is pointing excitedly
out, of the window.
"'here is a ship conming mn, look, look!"
"That's not it," says a clerk, "that's a
"Oh, no!" sadds Mr. Tawman; ''that's
not the. Good Luck.".
"It is! it isI" She darts fr om the office,
dragging the child after her, runs across
the bustling wharf out to the very edge of
Mr. Tawman rushed to the window,
opens it, andl calls to her. To no purpose,
however. All thme clerks cluster about the
window to wvatch her.
"The womian is mlad I" says cine. "She
Is going to drown herself."
Trawmnan says quietly to the telegrap~h
"it's the Mary."
Trho schooner Is heing towed up the
river by a tug. She is making prep~arations
to anchor in the stream opposite the wharf.
All this time Mrs. Shelter Is standing in
the midst of a crowd of eixcited people0
waving tier hiandikerchief, and the little girl
is waving hers.
"Look! look! thierel There's a man over
boardl" cried one of the clerks. A cry of
alarm goes ur from the wharf.
"Ileavenst" cxclaimned Mr. Trawvman,
thoroughly aroused. "What, dioes that
"lie's swiming ike a ish," says a
''ie has landed. Hark at the cheers!"
"Look! look!" shouted the operators.
''She ls hiugging him; so Is the little girl.
It's Captain Shelter!"
"Thank GodI" exclaimed Tawman, "and
pray heaven she may not sink under the
shock. Poor woman. How shio clings to
the direnched iman. Dear! (dear!'
Then lie puts on hIs hat and runs dlown
the steps like a boy, and darts over to
where husband and wife and child ar e
united and happy.
"Alit" he exclaimed, shaking the cap.
tamn by tihe hand, and not, caring for the
gaping and wondcribg crowdi all around
him; "this Is good luck, isn't it, ch? Did
you get my telegram?"*
When the mtan can speak lie answers:
"I planned It all!" chatters old Tawman.
"You see I got a dliapatchi yeterday from
the Breakwater, saying that Captain
.Shelter had~been picked up on a rail, by
the schooner Mary. I told her in the car
yesterday that the brig would come In,
and come m it dId. Over to the oflIce,
every one of you, and after dinner and
dry clothes, cap, we'll have a talk about
business. Comie on."
AN Pexbange says: "When milk
sours, sealdinag will render It sweet
again." Itsis different with an old
maid. Whem she is sour, soalding
will only anavtnant her acidity.
Wuterfall of Itoraimna in riouth America.
Barrington Brown, durinug his miemora
ble survey of Guiana, reached the foot o
Rogalma, and ascended its sloping portioi
to a height of 8,100 feet.above the level o:
the sea. 3etween the'highest point hi
reached and the foot of the great perpen
dicular portion which towered above is I
band of thick forest. Looking up at th
great wall of rock 2,000 feet in height, hI
could see that a fL; est covered itR top, anc
that in places on its sides where small treei
or shrubs could gain a hold, there they
clung. The gigantic chlif itself, is com.
posed of beds of white, pink and red sand.
stone, interbedded with layers of red shale,
the whole resting on a great bed of red
diorite. The length of Horalia is aboul
eight or ten miles; Kukenam Is perhapf
larger, and the area of Illebeapeur is cer.
tainly more extensive. It is impossible tc
view this wonderful group of mountains
without realizing that far back in the
youth of the world they formed part of an
archipelago In tropical seas. That they arc
well wooded and watered is made certan
by visible trees and the enormous waterfall
which pours at least fromu Ioralma. A
grand view of thin cataract was obtained by
Harrington Brown, front the mouth of i
cave, inhabited ty guacharo birds, and sit u
ated 1,882 feet above the level of the set.
Through the clear atmosphere was distinet
ly visible at. a distance of thirty iudles, the
white thread of the water- fall. The In
dians said it was the head of a branch of
the Cotinga River, but it Is more pioba
bly the head of the Caroni, a branch of
the Orinoko. This tropical btaubbach Is
probably the highest fall in the world and
is at the same time ot considerable bulk.
The cliif of IRoraima is 2,000 feet, in height,
over the tipper half of which it fell like a
plunib-line and then descended with a
slight slope outward. The remaining 3.000
feet to the valley below slopes at an angle
of forty-live degrees and, being tree-cover
ed, the rest of the fall is hidden by foliage.
The invisible attraction of the curious sa
vanna range of Island mountains to natur
alihts arises from the inaccessibility. This
should not be understood as the inure de
sire to excel others in a feat 6f climbing,
but as the hope that some relics of mam
malian life of the so-called "iniocene"
period may have survived on these isolatet
altitudes, cta off fron all comunication
with the living. moving world. If any of
the "mioceno" mammals lived upon them
when the sea washed their bases, the de
scendants of those animals may exist there
still, as the lemurs exist in Madagascar anu
a whole family of mar-supials, such as the
kangaroo, in-Australia. Perhaps a balloon
may one day solve the mystery which lends
a charm to these Island mountains, and
the happy naturalist who lands, as one will,
of course, and in time-on the summit of
Rorailma may find himself among the de
acendants of the races long since blotted
from the lower world, in which the evi.
dence of their existencei is recorded in the
great stone books alone. Aiud the forRl
dpths, 'on Which rests a large cloud, he
may find not the gigantic-saurians of the
youthful world, grin monsters of the fish.
lizard form, but the great progenitors of
existing miaminalia. Leaving the tapir,
one of the most ancient ot extant creatures,
at the bottom of the orahina cascade, lie
may find at its top its gigantic congeneirs
huge herbivorous animals Lifteen and eight
een feet in length; the dinotheluium, a
tapir-like creature larger than the eleplhant,
antique analogues of the mastodon, ances
tors of the horse, the hog, and the great
eats, which In the known parts of the
continent are represented by the Jaguar,
the punia, and the ocelot. The prospect
of the dinotheritim alone, would be sufli
cient to compensate an enthusiastic
naturalist fei the labor of years. It is the
largest of the terrestrIal mainalia which
have inhabited our globe and deservedly
stands at the head of thick skinned animals,
as the miiegathetiuim or gigantic sloth at that
of the tardagrades. P'ruably the dinotheri
umn wouild be found, if found at all, pur
huimg alife like that of the hippopotamus. Its
gi-cat hecat and tusks nre fhted ior grublbing
upl aquatIc plants, aniL like those of the
walirus, for helping thte animal out of the
water. But the thniothier-ium is but one of
the stai-thng forms which nught be looked
for en Rorania, if its cliffs be really as dir.
flcult as p~ainte-d. Lizards iii the semi
ophiidiain stage umighit be encountered and
other animals which, as the little boy said,
w~ho had been taken into a lecture of Pr-of.
Owen's '"had not quite made up their
minds what they were going to be.''
A carriage in the train bound fr om Vi
enna to Pesthi, contaiined, one evening
lately, five passengers--n Englishiman,
two Magyars, a m~ihil-looking man of sixty,
and a handsome young German, who
seemed dreadfully sleepy. Tfhe E~ngilih
man observed that the sexagenarian es
sayed to chat with the young German, who,
however, yawned and soon slumbered.
The sexagenarian became garrulous and
lamented his son's carelessness in money
matters. "See hin now, going to sleep)
in a carriage full of strangers. I think I'll
give the young man a fright -for once In his
life;" and lifting uip the lappel of lisa coat,
lie laughingly dIrew ouat a pocketbook. At.
P'resburg the careful father samQ he must
get out ior a minute, but when the trailn
moved on he didn't return. When he woke
tip they told hiu his father had got out
and taken lisa pocketbook. "My father I"
le shrieked, and, clutchig his empty
pocket, burst into a volley of inost iunfilia
imprecations. "I haven't got a father,"
he howled out. "I never saw the oli
scoundrel before. Good God I that, pock
etbook contained 8,000 flormns. Hie must
have seen It when I took my ticket I" Not
uinli kely. That genIal, sol-distant pairentl
has not been heard from.
A compumenitary nti.
There ls a trainip who hatunta the east
end of Galveston who Ihas got It down fine,
lie has itduced It to a perfect system. Het
knocked at the door of a house. Trho owne,
canmo out. As soon as lie lalid eyes on tli(
tramp lie said: "Now, look here, only re
costly I gave you a nickel to stay a wt ay foi
ten days, and hero you are back again.'
The tramp put his hand to his forehead
and wr~s lost in thought for several minutes.
T'hen lie said: "You are right, Colonel.
Your regular assessment Is not dlue yet.
When 1 get back to my counting room 1',1
pay off mty head bookkeeper antd discharg(
htim. He has neglected to give you the
proper credit on the ledger." "Well, gc
on, now." "All right, colonel, this Is not
a professional call it; it fs only comphimon
inry. No exnra charge.
The Saore City.
What a singular a t is Benares the
sacred city of the [iud 9. From all parts
of India, pious Hind come to speud
their last days and die, e of thus obtain
lug their peculiar form f salvation. All
day long fronm the earli t dawn till sunset,
thousands of people bat e on the steps of
the gnats, which run al g the river's bank
for nearly two miles, in lie sure and cer
tain hope that by such luon their sins
are washed clean away.
It is an extraordinai sight to lit In a
boat and quietly drif ,with the stream
alongside the wholo lengt of this great city.
and watch the bathers " o 1111 up the lIne.
Men and women are th I piously engaged,
and the usual plan to to ring down a plain
robe which they deposit on the stone steps,
while they descend Into he water in other
robes, and there perfo mt the necessary
a'nount of ablutions.
While the bathers stai1I up to their walsts
in water, devoutly foih g their hands in
prayer, or shedding off ings of leaves into
tle running streamn fron larige baskets, the
priests are , quatting on t e shores by scores.
each under an enormous Ombrellaof plaited
bamboo some ten or tw4lve feet In diain
eter, anid each with a co tinially increasing
heap of small coin prese ted by the bathers
-for what purpose we not know.
One of the gnats is c ed the "burning
gnats," where are staked great piles of
lumber, and where the hoats that you see
coning down the river with enormous stacks
of wood upon them unload their burdens.
Here, in the midst of the bathers, the dead
are burnt by their sorrow ng friends. The
body is brought down laahed upon a small
hand bier. If a man, It is wound tightly
in white robes, o that every part is cov
ered; if a woman, the robes are red.
The body is then plunged over head n
the stream, und then left lying in the water
half submerged, while the friends build the
funeral pyre. When the pile is half built
the body is laid on, and then more wood,
and then the torch is applied, and the
smoke of the burning soon pours forth in
Lhick, murky columns. When the wood
is burned, all parts of the hody that are left
inconsumed are thrown into the Ganges,
down which they float till the birds and
fisbes finish what the fire leaves undone.
This cremation goes on daily, and during
one short visit before breakfast we saw six
funeral fires lighted but did not feel called
upon to watch the entire destruction of th
The unlucky prisoner in the immense
field lee during the Imposing, unbroken
loneliness of the long Arctic night, when
the wind is calm, can hear the crackle of
the snow under the stealthy tread of the
polar bear at an astonishing distance, and
hear what a man, speaking loud, says at
1,000 inetres distance. It can, therefore,
be well understood how the sound of ice
pressures must travel to his ear from enor
mous distances. "oinetimes," the author
writes, "the noise of the wou movements
was scarcely to be heard-a mere murmur
-and caine to our ears as does the play of
the waves on a steep coast from the far
distance. Sometimes it hummed and
roaret closer to us, as if a whole column of
heavily laden wagons were being drawn
over the uneven ice surface." in the sound
was combined all manner of noises caused
by crackling, grinding, falling of blocks,
crushing, and many other pheriomena of
ice life. It is astonishing how far and
how clearly every noise is conducted in the
ice. The noise at the very margin of the
field on which we were seemed to occur
Immediately at our feet. If we placed our
cars to the ice, the sound was heard so
loudly that we might have expected the
ice to open under our feet the next mo
ment. The whole dry ice-covering was a
vast sounding-board. Whenever, as I lay
(own to sleep, I placed ny ear against the
dry, wooden ship's Ride. I heard a hum
miing and buzzing which was nothing else
buti the sumi of all the nolst s which oc
cuirredi in tihe ice at a great distance from
TIhe surf ace of an expanse of young salt
water ice on which no snow has yet fallen
is soiLt so that the footstep is impressed
upon01 its white covering as in imeltinig snow.
This is to be observedt even at a templera
ture of 40 degrees U. Thbe unfrozen fluid
is not wvatcr, but a concentrated solution
of salt throwii out by the freezing cf the
When summer begins the thawing that
6ccurs is very local and uniequmal. Any
dark body, such as heaps of ashes, or the
dropping of bears, cats its way into the
snow, absorbing tihe rays of heat which are
reflected oif again by the genmeral white
surface. Tihe bear-droppings cat their way
into the snow, and then into the ice, andl
the conical hole thus formed fills itself with
water. It may at last cat its way right
through the ice where not very thick.
Thus are formed the greater part of those
holes in drift-icc which arc usually ascribed
to seals. The author never saw a seal's
hole in winter.
Winter Traveling In Colorado.
A recent traveler in Colorado says the
train discharges its freight into a dozenm
coaches, which set off for the mountain
pass that lies between Norton and Lead.
ville; they rattle off through thu whirling
snows towards the range of mountains,
which is already thick with storms. Our
own way lies across the South Park to.
wards a lower part of the Arkansas Valley;
fe' uten miles the fouar horses hurry the~light
open wagon over the snow-covered plain.
through the blinding snowv that flies before
the liasts rushing down from the mountain
ravines. Then we find our ivay upon the
regular freighting road that leads in a de
vious course th~rough the mountain gorges
to Leadville. It is a way for which little
has been done except by the wheels of the
endiers trains of wagons; but nature meant
this land for roads; thme scant foliage andi
slight rain-fall leave each of the ravines a
natural road, and tihe frost has now bound
mud and stones together. Every nile of
this trail Is occupied by a long caravan of
the freighting teams that carry In provis.
bons ad take out bullion. The ordinary
irain consists of inaay teams, each com
posed of two wagons, the hinder one being
without a tongue, and the two coupled to
gether as closely as two railway cars.
sometimes there are three wagons in the
string. Eight or ten mules and a single
driver supply the motive power. With
this "outfit" one dexterous driver will drag
about ten thousand pounds of freight at
the rate of twenty-hive miles a day. Some
of these trains are individual ventures, but
commonly a dozen teams are under one
wagon-mnaster, who fixes the marches and
determines the nlaces whare the tmain shall
halt to pass the tides of wagons that set
the other way. These caravans give us the
most picturesque aspects of this mountain
life ; the driver's are a strange selection
from the vigorous frontiermen. The labor
is extremxely arduous and the life of the
rudest, but the profnts are very largo; many
of these teams earning from thirty to fifty
dollars per day, net, for a half year at a
time. 'The men live and generally sleep
with their anuinals, even in this fierce cold.
They are silent, indefatigable fellows, bru
tal In every outward aspect, yet withal sin
gularly pallent with their difficulties and
helpful of each other, unless the other is a
"greaser." A courteous word or two will
always get their aid in passing through the
perplexing blockade, where trains going in
opporite directions ieet on a narrow deale.
Their life Is one of trials. We are rarely
out of sight of dead horses or mules which
have broken their legs or died of ovcr
work, and every precipice along the road
shows the wreck of wagons that have
slipped over the edge into the gorge below.
In two hundred miles' travel with them I
did not hear a brutal word front one man
to another, and I was indebted to them for
inany considerate acts. They are a mar
velously profane lot, but their swearing
has a curiously impersonal character. In
his dificulties with the teams a ian will
lift up his voice and address the luiluite in
a diabolic honiily that wouli befit Blilton's
Sitan, and then, subsiding like a geyser,
remalu silent for the rest of the day. At
night, when they gather around the fire,
in the low-walled, turf-covered ranches,
they are peifectly imute; they sit on the
benches as still as munainles, until they slip
down upon the floor and snore until morn
ing. They suenm wrapped in their own
thoughts, or in the place where their
thoughts ought to be. 'I hey often caip
alone by the roadside; indeed, many of
them seem toprefer the absolute isolation that
they find In bivouacking In the scrub woods
ten miles from neighbors. One night I
sought directions from one of these solitary
men. lie was a huge, grizzly-bearded fel
low, whom I suprised cooking his supper
by a little fire in a niche in the rocks near
his teain. His ugly visage stood out in the
blaze of his bacon, which lie was toasting
on a stick. He gave me sufficient answers
without looking up to see waio it was shout
ing at hin out of the darkness.
Vanila, Cinnamon, cocoanut.
The vanilla plant is trained on poles
placed about twelve or eighteen inches
apartu-oe planter has a line of plants
about three miles in length. Like the car
daion, It yields fruit after three years, and
then continues producing its pods for an
The cinnamon is, as its name indicates,
a native of Ceylon. It is cuitivated on a
l'ght, sandy soil about three miles froim the
sea, on the southwest coast of the island,
front Negumbo to Matura. In its culti
vated state, it becones really productive
after the sixth year, and continues from
wa '%y 4U 1AA yVaUO. I iu aupuinendem
of the largest estate in that neighborhood,
stat-ed there are not less than 15 varietics
of cinnamon, anfficiently distinc. in flavor
to be easily recognized. The prio:luction of
the best so injures the plants that it does
not pay to cut this at any price under 6S.
6d. to 54. per pound. Thi estate aliutdld
to above, yields fron 30,000 to 40,000 lb.
per annum; a uniform rate of 4Jd. per lb.
of finished bark is paid for the labor. Cin
namon oil is produced from the bark by
distillation; the mode is very primitive and
wasteful. About 40 lb. of bttrk, previous
ly macerated in water, form one charge for
the still, which is heaed over a tire made
of the spent bairk of a previous distillation.
Each charge of bark yields about three
ounces of oil, and two charges are worked
daily in each still.
The cultivation of the cocoanut tree and
the prodluction of the valuable cocoanut
oil are two important Cingalese occupa
tions. Tihese trees, it appears, do not grow
with any luxuriance at a dlistatnce from hu
man dwveilings, a fact whiichmay perhaps
be accounited1 for by the benefit they derive
fromt the smoke lnsep~arable fronm the fires
in human habitations. The cultivation of 1
cocoanuls would sem to he dlecidedly p~ro
fitable, as some 4,000 nuts pert year arc
yieldled by each acre, the selling price be
ing E3 iper thousaiid while the cost of cuii.
tivation is about ?2 per acre. In extract
ing the oil, the white pullp is remtovedi and
dried, roughly powdered, and pressed in
similar machinery to the linseed oil crush
ing mills of this country, Thec dried pulp
yields about 60t per cent. by weight of
limpid, colorless oil, which in our climate
forms the white mass so well known in
Mtarriago kFee lu Muusala.
A schoolmate in the district of Jucknow,
Russia, was enaged to wed the daughter
of a landowner in the neighborhood, whose
wealth was not, at all proofortionato to his
acres. The bridgegroom, bride mand the
parents of the latter called on the priest of
.he lady's village, in order to settle the
amount of the wedlding fee. The clergy
mian fixed it at twenty. five roubles. Un
happily, tho b~rideO's father was determined
to make a show more in accordance with
his ancestral dlignity than with hIs impov
erished condimtion, and Invited all lis kin-.
efolk and acquaiance fromi far awl' near
to attend the ceremony. Thel result was
that the procession to the church included
no fewer thain eleven carriages, all futll of
weddling giuests. When the p~riest saw
ti nmagnificent preparation, ho hurried to
thie bridegroom, and informied hin that
the fee for a marriage of stich pretensions
would not be twenty-five, but one hundred
roubles. When the mian pleaded his pov
erty as a schoolmaster, the pastor replied
by pointing to the signs of his father-in-law's
wealth. Th'le wedding party held a con
sultation, and,indlgnant at the priests con
dIuct, resolved that the whole p-ocession
should drive off to the next village. The
priest outwitted them, however; lis ies
soniger arrivedl at his brother cleric's door
long before the lunmbering coaches, so that
when they reached the church, and asked
the price of the sacerdotal function, the
parish priest was ready with the reply,
"One huindred roubles." TIhe procession
started again for a further village, but the
miessenager had been there before them; the
priest of the place couldi not marry 'thbem
for less than one ,hundred roumbles. Thley
experienced a similar disconmfiture, accord
ing to the reports, at no less than four vil
lage chiurchtes, and it was only after a
long drive across the country that they stic
ceeded in finding "little father," who read
ily consented to bestow the sacramental
benediction of matrimony for the fee
which the lady's own nsator had nr!ginial
A Duellug Heqminiscenoe.
The recent unveiling of the statue of
Alexander lamilton, in Now York, brings
up recollections of the ground upon which
the duel between Hlanilton and Burr was
foughi. L. i recent conversation with an
elderly gentleman, an old New Yorker,
this subject was brought up, and he gave
a graphic account of a duel between one
Dr. Barton and Mr. Graham, not far from
the very spot where Hamilton had lost his
life some years before. In the spring of
1820 or 1821 the narrator, being then a
young manui and the owner of a fast White
hall boat, was approached one evening by
two gentlemen who wished to know if he
would take a party from the foot of Cort
landt street the next morning at 5 o'clock.
This the narrator promised to do, an.1 at
the time appointed he was on hand with his
noat, manned by four oarsmen, and himself
at the tiller. Three gentlemen got on
board, and he was directed to steer toward
Paulus Ilook, (now Jersey City.) Froin
there they proceeded up the river to -1 spot
on the beach ahovo Hoboken, an about
100 yards from where the memorable duel
had been fought. They all landed, and
about fifteen minutes afterwards 'another
boat, owned by a "Capt." Anthony B.
Fountain, put ashore, with Mr. Graham
and another party. When this last boat
landed, and while stepping ashore, Graham
stumbled and fell over a rock, saying to
Lhe gentleman with hin, who turned out
to be his second, "Eddy, It won't do to fall
yet." This was the first intimation the nar
rator and "Capt." Fountain received that
% duel was about to take place. While the
econds were measuring the ground, an
)Id farmer and several men with hoes over
Licir shoulders. approached the spot, and
me of the men hurried as though he were
about to try and stop matters where they
were, but the 'il farmer said, "Stop, John,
- it all, if they want to shoot, let
lm shoot one another " After some ten
paces were ilneasured off on the bieach, the
seconds tossed for choice of position, the
principals took their pistols, and Barton
took his stand facing the south, Graham
facing north. The narrator and "Capt."
Fountain stood near the beach about nid
way between the combatants, the seconds
ind the doctor who was with them stand
When the signal was given they fired,
Grahani's shot striking the ground about
nildway between the combatants, and Blar
Lon's shot alniost grazing Graham's right
side. After the first tire a short conversa
Lion ensued between the priacipals and
scconds, which the narrator did not over
hear, after which they again took their
positions. At the second fire Graham tired
first without, hitting Barton, and Barton,
after taking deliberate aln, fired, hitting
Grahan in the groin. The Injured man
Jumped about two feet into the air, and
the narrator and "Capt." Fountain ran to
the spot and caught hh111 as ho fell. Dr.
M[cLeod then examiinc him, and observed,
9~~~~~.1.-...%....,.. ........ ._ ..'..
"Ilarton, my dear fellow, you have shot
mie; I forgive you." Barton said, "I am
sorry." 'The old farmer and his non then
ipproachod, but before they had reached
he place the parties had taken to their re
pective boats. On first leaving the shore
lie boats were somewhat separated, but
Jhoy afterwards Came together. and Barton
ook from his pocket a flask containing
)randy and passed It to Graham. ie
;wo boats then took difforent directions,
he narrator taking Barton back to Cort
andt street, and on the way the narrator
isked Barton why lie shot Graham after
lhe latter's pistol went off, and his reply
Nas, "IMy God, I never thought of it," and
he narrator was convinced from his man
ier that it had never occurred to him that
t0 might have thrown away his fire. Bar
on to'd the narrator (and at such a tune It
a to be supposed that lie would have told
he truth) that the pistol withi which lie had
hlot Ga'ahamn was the Identical plastol with
which Burr had shot ilsaulton.
Barton wettto the City lloteland p~acked
ala trunk%, and was rowed to Staten Is
and, lie was then driven across to Ami
oy, thence to Cape Mlay, where a pillot
Joat conveyed lham to a shil bound for
lavre. The narrator understainds that lie
emained in Paris for some time, and was
mngaiged in the office of the United States
.onsui. Grahiam (lied before the boat
eached shore, and~ there wias coanslderable
sxcitement at the tune over the nifair.
l'he narrator, "Capt." Fountain, as also
he oarsumen in the two boats, kept shady
~or a few dasys, but upon being advised to
o to the proper authorities and make a
lean breast of it, they did so and we ro
Winter Onre of Late liroods.
Late broods of chickens frequently oc
Juzr where fowls are allowed their Jiberty.
tt as a waste of eggs, lhen's time, and
,hicks. They will come out ' sometimes
ma the very borders of winter.
)ftentimes these broods are as
Tne andl promising as anly brought out
uariier in the seasoni, but there is inal
uope of rearing them, if not too late some
nay grow up, but they can never be any
)roflt. Tticy sooan becomne stunted and
nature in a diwarfedI condition. By con
ining them in a warmi, sunny buiding,
hey may be comparatively comafortabulo if
Nell fed (anid winter chicks coanumo an
mnornmous quantity) but the nights are too
aevere. Th'Iis tells on the growth. The
Jctter plan is never to allow a hena to sit
aite an the season, and it amay be avoidled if
~trlct watch be kept. it is only neglect
hat permits lhens to sit in the fall. Chicks
~hat are brought out in July are little ex
pense In rearing, and become profitable, as
well as those ini August arnd muany timies mi
:lepteaaber, but later than this the balance
In their favor is small, if givena three or
our weeks with a majority of fine dlays,
hoey obtain so great a start that the coming
o0ld weather does not pinch them so miuch.
In that time they become feathered, and if
:onfied during winter, with plenty of
reed they will grow fluiely, and by spring,
Lhe puloets will be read~y to lay. The
towls should be assorted well, and the late
broods and liens that are nct laying shoul
be kept, separate from '.hose that are in lay.
Trhey ah )uld not be crowded together
LU a smail place on scanty rations. T1ho
better way is to give all an cuqual chance and
sufficient tood. D~o not, permit the pres
once of two or three youang roosters, but
behead all such useless fowls as soon as fit
for the pot, and keep only the breeders re
ujuired. if there be no convenient place
where they may run separately or singly,
allow them to run with the layers. Never
confinQ f~wo or mrnc fi eks togathor.
unless they are for the shambles, for they
will fight. and destroy each other's beauty.
Too many ctecks are a detriment. Laying
hens are cross and pugnacious. For this
reason it is better to miake two flocks In
winter-the layers and the non-layers.
There are generally both sorts even among
fowls of tl e same breed, and in different
breeds the variation Is still greater. Late
broods require some nursing, and more
frequent feeding. It is a goodl plan to give
soft feed, which is a little warm, in severe
weather, as a crop full of cold grain chills
the immature botdies and brings on ladi.
gestion. Where hens are kept inlaying alt
the time duinig cold weather, the grain
must be warmed. It is better to feed filly
natured birds on whole grain. Corn
should be either boiled, or baked with a
little grease (either tallow or lard) melted
in while hot. This is excellent for laying
hens and is relished. Care should be taken,
however, that it be not too hot. Tke kern
cis, although cool on the surface may be
scorching inside, and may be an injury in
stead of a benetit. Smaller grains
do not rquire this preparation. Lato
broods, when kept in a thrifty condition,
often make line fowls for another season,
and frequoutly become show birds, as their
season of moulIng occurs so much earlier,
that they are generally in feather and coa
dLtion at the eurly autumn shqws.
Thu Ilomie or St. columba.
At the western extremity of the Garve
loch group there Is a small island separated
from its larger neighbor by a narrow strait.
Its cliffs are lower, *uore broken and rug
god; and fardown over their beetling brows
.appear patches of grass and wild llowers,
which give them a softer appearance.
Fronting the mainland, the land rises
abruptly in a wall-like face, but at the
back it slopes gradually down to the level
of the sea. In some places Its trap-dykis
have been iselated by the action of the tides,
anid project from the recks like Cyclopean
walls; whicat the southend there are deep
caves mantled with ivy, and huge arches
like the fantastic rock scenery of Carlsaig,
on the opposite shore of Mull. A fringe of
rugged rocks, with sharp teeth-like projec
tions, standing out in the water, guLrds it
on the western side: with tortuous channels,
running in among them to the shore like
the reef around a coral island. By the na
tives of the district this island is called
"El4ilean na Naonh," -or the "Isle of
Saints." It has been Identified almost be
youd doubt as the "Inisula Hinba," or
"liinbinn," to which Adamnan refers in
his "Life of 8t. Colunba," as one of the
islands on which the great Celtic apostle
had founded Iis earliest nionasteries.
From time immemorial it hns enjoyed a
sacred reputation, a rClio lo0. Iefoie
the time of St. Columba it was, probably,
like lona, the Remt of so-called Druidic
worship, or whatever kind of nature-cult
the primitive inhabitants had favored. St.
Brendan, whose name is still commeno
1 Nr ain ,9ur ,icac l~ Ita Chrii1an
establishment, supposed to have been a col
lege for training preachers of the Gospel,
previous to its occupation by t he monastery
of St. Colnuba, and this establishment
was, in all likelihood, swept away in the
severe struggle between the Piets and the
Dalrhadic Scots, in the year 500, which
ended in the defeat of the latter. The old
Gaelic word for college, viz., Ailcac., Is
still preserved in the name of Elachnave,
by which the island is best knowa in our
guide-books. Between it and Oronsay
there was once a close ecclesiastical con
n(ction; its pairsonage and vicarago foinds
having, previous to 1630, belonged to the
celebrated priory of that island, whica in
its turn was an appanage of liolyrood Ab
boi , near Edinburgh. Latterly It has been
included in the parish of Jura. For many
centuries it has been uninhabited, and with
the excep~tion of shepherds whio pay an oc
casional visit to it to look after their sheep,
and a few zealous antiquar'es who laud on
its shores at long Intervals--Its stern silence
Is never disturbed iy the presence of man.
All Americans should make a pilgrimage
to the Inst resting-place of the great Lafay
ette at the cemietery of Picpus, Paris. It
hiis been said that it became necessary to
abandon this cemetery because it was
gorged with dead. Thils is, an error; the
room was not lacking, but the place of in
termnent was badly situated in the midst of
a quarter thinly platited, but rich; it was
beside the "subject of the diatribes of the
aristocrats and of the contre revolutioniste."'
Thle result was its remioval. During the
early part of the lieign of Tierror, a conmc
tery being needed, choice was made of a
sort of desert, which backing up against
the very walls of La Folio Chartres, that is
to say thie Parc-Monceau of to-day, was
bountled by tihe 01(d wall d'onciente the liue
Vahois and the lRie du ilochue. This was
called the Cemetery do Mousseaux, as
known oflicially, but all the people of Lai
Petite P'ologue called it the "Cimetiere des
Errancis." it was "inaugurated" in July,
1795, by the burial of Chariotte Corday,
onie ohf the very first to be iinterred there.
It reeivedl also all the "hard cases" of the
revolution. The cemetery was very soon
closed and never again used. Before the
18th [Brumairo no more intorments were
madle there, and its very existence seemed
to be ignored. A "cabaret" was estab
11ished on Its site, and people drank, sang,
and dniced there. Trho annexation of that
suburb of P'aria caused this "petit Tivoll"
tq disappear.- Tiho construcetion of the
Boulevardl Malesherbes and the extending
of the Itue Mironmeni scattered nearly the
last remains of this ancient cemetery. All
that is left of it now is a fragment close to
the walls, and some ball players come
togeither there occasionally to enjoy thema
selves. Picpus, La Madeleine and Les
E'rrancis were, therefore, the three deposi
taries of the victims of the guillotine.
In military manwuvres on a large scale,
one of the principal causes which prevent
the undlerstanding of the development and.
result of a tactical operation is theodifleculty
experienced by troops of the one side in
distinguishing the dIrection In which the
artillery of the other is aimiedl. To meet
thIs dIllilculty the Bellati-Chiodo helloscopo
has been introduced In Italy. A reflector,
mounted on a small frame, is directed so
as to throw a beam ef solar rays opi the
point aimed at by the artillery, anti tho
troop fired on may thus be enabled to take
the tactical formation best suiteda to the of
fectsm the fire might be expected to produoc.
A subsidiary retlector, is used wheri the
solar rays do not strike the chief rcleotor.
directly. Tlhe apparatus can also be used
as a heliogranh.